


Underestimated

by Juli



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-09
Updated: 2012-09-09
Packaged: 2017-11-13 20:46:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,276
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/507556
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Juli/pseuds/Juli
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Mycroft Holmes inconveniences John Watson and isn't sorry about it at all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Underestimated

**Author's Note:**

> Written in 2011

Mycroft Holmes did not like miscalculations, especially when they were his own. The fact that they didn’t happen often was small consolation. Mycroft knew as soon as he saw John Watson’s face that he’d waited too long to have this particular conversation. The good doctor appeared far too confident, despite how Mycroft had arranged for him to be picked up after a long hospital shift. The time had been carefully chosen for so that Watson was most likely to be tired and vulnerable. 

In fact, Watson entered the warehouse with no sign of a limp, a sign as telling as the expression on his face. Without hesitation, Watson crossed the large space without needing any direction or encouragement by Mycroft’s employees. Mycroft had chosen the largest of his staff to escort his guest and both men topped Dr. Watson by at least half a metre, but the doctor showed no signs of concern. Indeed, he walked to the table that Mycroft had arranged for to be set up and sat down at the empty chair, as though he had been the one to call for a meet and not kidnapped at another’s bidding.

Mycroft smiled at the other man. “I’m sorry if I’ve inconvenienced you, Doctor.”

Watson’s answering smile was small, but surprisingly genuine. “No, you’re not.”

“I beg your pardon?” Mycroft wasn’t often taken by surprise and found he didn’t like it any more than he did miscalculating.

“You said you were sorry,” Watson explained, not in the slightest intimidated by the icy glare that was common to both Holmes brothers. “But you’re not at all sorry for inconveniencing me.”

Mycroft liked to think that he had discerned, even before his brother had, that the rather drab little man sitting in front of him was more than he appeared. Even so, he was taken aback by Watson’s observation; taken aback and not entirely pleased.

“Do not let the fact that I’m more in tune with social norms than my brother make you complacent, Dr. Watson,” Mycroft warned him in a soft, but lethal tone. “I assure you that I can put them aside just as easily as he does when the situation warrants it.”

Watson looked back at him with disturbing aplomb. “I don’t doubt that for a minute, but I don’t think the current situation, as you state it, warrants it.”

Mycroft’s pique was turning into admiration, in spite of himself. “Do tell me, then, why did I have you brought here?”

“You’ve learned that Sherlock and I are lovers,” Watson stated bluntly. “I’m here for the obligatory sibling dressing down.”

“Sibling dressing down?” Mycroft repeated, one eyebrow going up.

For the first time, irritation flashed briefly across John Watson’s face. “You know perfectly well what I mean, don’t try and pretend you don’t.” John heaved a big sigh of annoyance when Mycroft didn’t respond. “I’m talking about the conversation where you warn me that if I hurt your baby brother, that you will end me or some such bother.”

Mycroft leaned forward and looked at the doctor intently. “And you don’t think such a warning, coming from me, is something to be concerned about?”

Watson mirrored his action, leaning forward until only a very small distance separated them. “No, it’s not, because I will not hurt Sherlock. Ever.”

Although not as observant as his brother, Mycroft was more perceptive than most. What he saw in John Watson’s face eased the tension in him. Upon his first meeting with the doctor, he’d realised that the other man was already loyal to Sherlock, even though they’d known each other for only a single day. Becoming Sherlock’s lover had clearly only deepened that loyalty. Looking into John Watson’s eyes, Mycroft knew that his brother had finally found someone who appreciated his worth and who would protect it just as intently as Mycroft himself did.

Mycroft leaned back, allowing his posture to reflect his inner relaxation. “Very well. I believe you.”

Watson did the same. “Good, because it’s the truth.” 

There were a few moments of silence between the men and, much to Mycroft’s surprise, it was a companionable one.

“I think,” Mycroft spoke slowly. He found that he wanted the other man’s regard, an unusual circumstance for a Holmes. “I think that you have participated in such sibling conversations before. From the other side, perhaps?”

“Yeah,” Watson rubbed the back of his neck. “At first, at least. After a while, it became obvious that Harry’s girlfriends weren’t the problem; they should have been warned about her, not the other way ‘round.”

Mycroft nodded; he’d had Harriet Watson’s background checked just as thoroughly as John’s. He’d done the same for all of the surviving Watsons, in fact.

Watson leaned forward again. “What did you do about the others?”

This time, Mycroft was genuinely confused and not just feigning it. “What others?”

The doctor’s lips thinned with annoyance. “Someone convinced Sherlock that he’s a sociopath. The man doesn’t even know he’s beautiful. What did you do about the people responsible for that?”

Mycroft briefly considered denying what Watson implied, but almost as quickly discarded the notion. It would gain him nothing but John Watson’s contempt. In truth, it would be a relief to discuss his actions with a like-minded individual.

“There are a number of individuals formerly employed as teachers or private tutors who have since been barred from having any further interaction with children,” Mycroft began. “Similarly, a school administrator of some note found it necessary to not only leave the profession, but to relocate to another country altogether. I believe he now resides in Chechnya.”

“That’s a good start,” Watson nodded in recognition of Mycroft’s work. “What else?”

“As you know, children can often be the cruel towards the peers that they perceive as different,” Mycroft sighed. “Unfortunately, I was not of an age or position to do much about any of the tormenting at the time it happened.” His smile was self-deprecating. “Other than what a normal sibling can do for a younger brother and I wasn’t very physically intimidating.”

“No, I suppose you weren’t,” the doctor gave him a long look. “At the time, that is.”

Mycroft nodded acknowledgement of what Watson had implied. “At the time, yes. Although my intervention when Sherlock was a child was minor, to say the least, certain names were noted. When my position opened resources for me, I was able to take action. Not only on the educators I’ve already mentioned, but on a few of his most enthusiastic tormentors. Those that had not grown out of the behaviour, that is.”

Watson cocked his head to the side as he considered the other man. “And those that didn’t?”

“Whilst going through a divorce, one woman found herself unable to secure primary custody of her children,” Mycroft informed him. 

“A woman - Sherlock got beaten up by a girl?” Watson seemed surprised and more than a little amused.

Mycroft felt defensive on his younger brother’s behalf. “Sherlock has always been able to hold his own physically, as you should be well aware. No, her tormenting had more to do with the psychological. I believe the reason that Sherlock does not object to Lestrade’s people referring to him as a freak was because of this girl’s cruel comments whilst they were both young.” He glowered. “If Ms. Donovan and Mr. Anderson do not refrain from doing the same, they will find it impossible to move up the chain of command. In fact, they might find themselves losing rank.”

Watson’s eyes hardened. “I think losing some teeth might be even more effective.”

“I shall leave that tactic to your capable hands,” Mycroft was pleased to notice that the doctor’s fingers had already curled into fists. He didn’t really think that it would come to blows, but Watson would strike out if he were pushed far enough and Mycroft trusted that Lestrade’s people were aware of that fact. “As for Sherlock’s other primary tormenter when they were children, he applied for and was denied entrance into both the military and police.”

“Good,” Watson understood the benefit of that act immediately. “The last thing a bully needs is a badge to back it up.”

“Just so,” Mycroft nodded, pleased that he and Sherlock’s lover were in agreement.

The tally, however, wasn’t complete and both men knew it.

“And the rest?” Watson prompted when Mycroft hesitated over speaking. “That accounts for some of it, but not all.”

And not even the worst, which both men also knew.

“You’re aware that Sherlock is an attractive man,” Mycroft continued when Watson nodded. “He was a beautiful child and youth as well. Where he has always been older than his years intellectually, you may be aware that Sherlock is surprisingly childish in other ways.”

Watson snorted with laughter. “Yes, I’ve noticed.”

Mycroft grinned tightly in response. “I rather imagine you have. My brother’s first few romantic entanglements ended badly, but not abnormally so. Much of his certainty that he has no heart comes from cumulative experiences. There was one chap, however, that was different than the others.” Mycroft’s smile vanished. “He wasn’t as intelligent as Sherlock, but was a master manipulator. I think we can lay most of Sherlock’s ignorance of his own attractiveness at Sheldon’s feet.”

“Is this Sheldon still alive?” Watson asked. Mycroft would have assumed the other man was completely calm except for the whiteness of his tightly fisted hands.

“No,” Mycroft answered softly, “because he’s also the individual who introduced my brother to recreational pharmaceuticals.” 

“Ah,” was Watson’s only comment.

“My job is to protect the mother country,” Mycroft explained. “Granted, my responsibility is usually on a more global scale, but cleaning up the streets of London is within my purview. Every person who provided drugs to Sherlock is no longer a danger to the public.”

“Dead?” Watson asked.

“Not all,” Mycroft conceded. “But all are beyond reaching Sherlock again.”

“He won’t go back to using drugs,” Watson’s voice was iron and Mycroft was relieved. Sherlock wouldn’t have been the first genius to turn to drugs to cope with reality. John Watson clearly wasn’t about to allow that to happen.

“Is Sherlock aware of how you’ve. . . .” Watson hesitated, at a momentary loss of words to describe what it was that Mycroft had done for his brother. “Protected him all of these years?”

Mycroft answered that the only reasonable way he could; by lifting one eyebrow. Watson actually blushed.

“Of course he is, he’s Sherlock bloody Holmes. Why do I bother to ask?” Watson muttered, mostly to himself. His expression brightened as he followed the thought to its logical conclusion. “That’s why he’s so prickly when it comes to you, isn’t it?”

“My brother has always been an independent sort,” Mycroft stated. “He doesn’t like the idea that he can’t take care of himself. No one likes to live in their older sibling’s shadow.”

“Or living it down,” Watson added, no doubt thinking of his alcoholic sister, who’d made a shambles of her life.

“Indeed,” Mycroft replied. “I take it you are of a like mind, where Sherlock’s welfare is concerned?”

“Yeah,” Watson didn’t hesitate.

“Good,” Mycroft stood and gathered his umbrella, preparing to leave. “Then I trust we can join forces where my brother is concerned.”

Watson also stood, but instead of preparing to leave, he put his hand on Mycroft’s arm. “Not so fast, I have one more thing to say.”

Mycroft waited, prompting when Watson didn’t continue, “That is?”

The doctor leaned forward and his gaze locked onto Mycroft’s own. “You. We haven’t talked about you yet. Right now, you obviously have Sherlock’s best interests at heart, but if that should change. . . if you should ever hurt him. . . I will end you.”

Although it seemed like it, the two men weren’t really alone; Mycroft’s employees were still present. They’d withdrawn during the discussion, but began to approach when it appeared that the meeting was over. They heard Watson’s threat and, from the stirring amongst them, they hadn’t liked it at all. Mycroft put a hand up, stopping the possibility of any retaliation.

“So noted,” Mycroft nodded his head at Watson. He took the threat seriously and was glad to hear it, even though he knew it was possible that his idea of what Sherlock’s best interests were wouldn’t always match Watson’s. It was good to know that Sherlock had someone that wouldn’t cowed by even Mycroft’s considerable resources. “And, as you said in the beginning of our conversation, your warning is unnecessary. I will never hurt Sherlock.”

“Good,” Watson stepped back. “Glad we have that clear.”

“On both sides,” Mycroft reminded him softly. He felt that he knew and understood John Watson better than he had before, but he didn’t lose sight of the original reason for bringing the doctor to him.

“Right,” John nodded. He glanced back at the two men who’d escorted him there. “Now that’s settled, I better get back to Baker Street before Sherlock shoots another pattern into the wallpaper. Let’s go.”

Mycroft’s employees had actually turned for the door before realising that they hadn’t actually received orders from their boss. When they turned back to Mycroft, he nodded and waved them away impatiently.

Watson’s steps as he left the warehouse were every bit as confident as when he’d come in. Walking between the taller men, Watson’s shortness was pronounced, but Mycroft didn’t let that affect his new perception of the man. John Watson, too easily categorised as drab and dull, was like a tiger, perfectly camouflaged for his environment.

Others might underestimate John Watson, but Mycroft Holmes knew that he, for one, never would again.

~the end~


End file.
